


Kings Over Nothing

by LMT



Category: Eastern Promises (2007)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-20
Updated: 2009-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-04 17:06:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LMT/pseuds/LMT
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nikolai and Kirill, post-movie.  He knows that Kirill will lay his cards on the table tonight.  (Mostly gen, refs to slash.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kings Over Nothing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Galadriel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galadriel/gifts).



 

Nothing is certain in this game, but Nikolai knows that he has as good a hand as anybody could hope for.  And even though this isn’t exactly the ideal moment he would have chosen to test it – he’s still physically weak, and loopy on pain pills, and he doesn’t feel at all ready to fuck – with Semyon out of the way now is the time.  Positions will be cemented quickly, and if Kirill manages to assume his father’s mantle without help, then Nikolai will never really be his equal.

His _partner_.

He smiles a little at the word, takes his painkillers, and moves slowly towards his mirror to primp.  He knows it, he feels it: Kirill will lay his cards on the table tonight.

***************************

Kirill is sitting alone, staring blankly at a muted TV.  "Kolya," he slurs without turning to look.

Nikolai diagnoses the situation fast: Kirill’s drunk, and he has been crying.  All as expected.

What is not quite expected is a sudden twist in his chest – must be pity, or guilt.  Oh, well.  "I’m sorry about your father," he says quietly.  At Kirill’s gesture he comes and sits down on the couch next to him.

Kirill stares at the TV a moment longer.  "If I killed that baby like he told me, he wouldn’t be in jail," he says.  "So… I guess that makes it my fault, right?"

"Kirill."  Nikolai waits until he makes eye contact.  "That was right thing."

After a long silence, Kirill nods and looks down to his bottle.  "Here," he says, offering it.  "You want?"

Nikolai looks bemused.  "I’m still taking pills," he reminds, but takes a small sip anyway.

"Don’t worry – if you get all fucked up, I’ll carry you home."  Kirill takes a much bigger sip, and looks back to the TV.  "So… what now?"

"Now?" Nikolai is smiling inside, wondering exactly how this _carrying home _is going to play out.

"Now that my father is gone, you fucking idiot," Kirill says, a little sharply.  "What do we do now?"

Nikolai lets his breath out, long and slow.  Already Kirill needs his advice – this is good.

But it turns out that a strategy talk isn’t quite what Kirill has in mind.  "You said we are partners," he reminds.  "So what does that mean?  Tell me."

Ah.  _That’s _what he’s talking about.  Nikolai shrugs, gestures for the bottle again to stall while he assesses the situation.  He’s fully expected Kirill to make a move, all right, but now he’s getting more and more curious about the odd form this move is taking.  He’d expected the axe to fall in the form of _let me help you with your stitches, _or perhaps a tearful _my-papa-is-gone _type hug.  But this, a direct conversation about the nature of their relationship…  "What do you think it means?" he asks after a moment.

For a moment Kirill sounds almost shy.  "I don’t know.  I’ve never had a partner before."  But then he looks up, and his eyes are suddenly hard.  "I guess it means we’re supposed to trust each other.  So can I trust you?"

"What kind of question is that?" Nikolai chides gently.  "You’re my captain."

"That’s not what I said.  I said, _can I trust you_?"

Finally it occurs to him that Kirill must be nervous.  (He tries not to find this endearing, but it’s hard – the morphine is making him soft today.)  Kirill is touchy because he’s so afraid, that’s all.  And he isn’t _going _to make a move, not until he knows that it will be okay.

Because Nikolai plans to embed himself into Kirill’s life on every possible level to ensure that Semyon’s power passes through to him (and _only_, he tells himself, _only _because of that)… this will indeed be okay.  He needs to show Kirill that.

But still he has to tread delicately.  Draw this out a little, play a little harder to get.  "Kirill."  He reaches over and takes Kirill’s hand, pressing it between both his own.  "I have no family.  We have been like brothers.  Look at me: you can trust me.  I will do whatever you need."

Kirill gives a short, breathless huff of laughter.  "Yeah?"

"Yeah."  Nikolai mirrors his smile without realizing it.

"Whatever I need," Kirill muses.  He scoots forwards to cup the back of Nikolai’s neck with his free hand.  He leans in until their foreheads are touching.  "You want to be my brother?" he asks with a hint of challenge.

Nikolai tries not to think about the sister Kirill almost threw into the water.  "I want to be your partner," he whispers.  And then he waits, (because he’s a little nervous himself and) because he’s already decided that Kirill will have to be the one to break first.  That’s the way to ensure that the balance of power remains as it should be: Kirill desperate, Nikolai giving but detached.  "Your father’s gone now, but I am here," he murmurs.  "You’re the boss… and I will do whatever you need."  He puts both hands to Kirill’s neck.

And finally, _finally _Kirill takes the bait.  "Whatever I need," he says again, and turns his face to nuzzle into Nikolai’s hand.

He’s dared this a few times before, when he’s very very drunk… but until now Nikolai has always extricated himself gently and just put Kirill to bed.  This time, instead, he drags his thumb slowly over Kirill’s lips and whispers, "_partners._"

It’s enough.  The open invitation between them has finally been accepted, and as Nikolai had expected, it’s like a dam breaking.  Kirill lets out a single sob, then turns harder into his driver's hand and presses it against his face. "Kolya," he gasps, and kisses the hard scarred palm.  "I want to, Kolya."  More kisses, and he’s touching Nikolai everywhere he can reach_, _his shoulders and neck and wrist and face, whatever his hands find first.

When he’s drawn in against Nikolai’s chest he yanks his shirt open a little so he can kiss him on the chest.  Nikolai gives a low guttural groan, which isn’t fake… because the movement has tugged on his stitches, and it hurts like a bitch.

Kirill makes a noise in answer, and presses closer.

And then, as Nikolai had expected:

"No," Kirill breathes.  "This is wrong… _so _fucking wrong."  He sits up.  "I can’t."

Nikolai has rehearsed this too: a calm shrug, a faint smile.  "We are partners," he reminds.  He strokes Kirill’s cheek with the back of his hand.  "It’s okay."

That’s when things stop going according to plan.

"It’s _okay_?" Kirill snarls suddenly.  Out of nowhere he’s angry, dangerously angry, and he smacks Nikolai’s hand away loud enough to make a noise.  "It’s okay?  What’s okay?  What the fuck do you think I’m talking about, you filthy fucking whore?"

Nikolai blinks.

Before he can even think of what to say to that, Kirill is going again.  "You thinks it’s this?" he asks, gesturing back and forth between them.  "You think it’s _us_?  You think that I’m not going to fucking touch you if I want to touch you, is that what you think?  Hmm?"  His hand goes to Nikolai’s face in what is almost a slap, he rubs his cheek fast and careless, traces forcefully over his mouth.  "How’s that for _okay_?"  With no warning he makes a grab for Nikolai’s crotch and gropes him hard.  "How’s that?"

Nikolai pushes him away and brushes his hair back in frustration… and nervousness, though he doesn’t let the thought cross his mind.  "I don’t know what you want from me, Kirill," he mumbles at last.  "You’re not making any sense at all.  And it’s been a hard fucking week, okay?  So why don’t you just tell me what’s the problem."

"The problem is-… the problem…"  Kirill stands up and paces.  "I watch you all the time, Kolya, you know that."

Nikolai waits, blank.

"So…?" Kirill prompts.

But Nikolai still doesn’t get it, and can’t answer.

Kirill faces him, crosses his arms, and spells it out.  "I know that you sold out my papa to the police."

The bottom falls out of Nikolai’s stomach and he’s suddenly lightheaded with adrenaline.  "Kirill," he says, then stops.  What to do?  Deny it?  Defend it?  Apologize?

Kirill saves him the trouble of trying to answer.  "For that I don’t blame you," he says quietly.  "You were not safe with him, he set you up, I know that.  But."  He takes a deep breath.  "You should have told me.  Kolya!"  He turns and kicks the wall, so hard that they hear plaster fall on the other side.  "You should have trusted me!  You could have been my partner… and yeah, okay," he adds after a moment, a little irritably, "Maybe I would have wanted to suck your dick too.  But it doesn’t matter now.  I’m fucking through with you."

Nikolai’s eyes flash to the door.  He’s too weak to fight, but maybe if he can get one good blow in, stun Kirill for long enough to make an escape…

Kirill sees what he’s thinking about and gestures towards the way out.  "Go – I won’t stop you," he says.  "I don’t want to see you anymore."  What a lie.  How he can even say it with a straight face is a mystery.  His eyes move over Nikolai and he swallows.  "You can have… I mean, I know you’re hurt… you can have a couple of days to get out of London," he mumbles, then tries to be tough.  "But I want you gone by the weekend, and I don’t want to see your face here ever again. Do you hear me?"  He turns his back, clears his throat, and this time when he talks he’s got most of the emotion out of his voice.  "Papa’s people will all know what you did.  You had better fucking disappear."

Nikolai’s mouth tightens.  All the reputation he has cultivated will be worthless.  That can’t be allowed to happen.

Kirill is facing the window, his back to his enemy, and for a moment all Nikolai can feel is contempt for such a stupid move.  He quickly assesses the area around him for weapons.  If he sees something sharp, weak or not maybe he can-…

But then he realizes that at night a window becomes a mirror, and that Kirill’s reflection is staring at him.  It laughs, mirthlessly.  "My father didn’t raise an idiot.  I told you, Kolya: I watch you.  Get out of here."

Nikolai plays his last card... maybe his best.  "You’ll be alone," he warns, and waits.

Kirill just shrugs.  "Good."

Nikolai stares at him and can hardly believe it: he finally called Kirill’s bluff, and he _lost.  _He swallows.  His chest hurts, and for the first time it occurs to him that maybe the stakes were a little higher than he’d realized.

***********************************

The End.

((I’m sorry it turned out to be a downer!  I hope you enjoyed a bit anyhow…))


End file.
